Mr and Mrs Malfoy
by LightofEvolution
Summary: Draco and Hermione are happily married. Well, at least, they are married. But both live a second life behind the boundaries of the law without knowing from each other. What happens when their secrets are uncovered? Is it the end of Mister and Missus Malfoy? Dramione, EWE
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I can proudly present this little story, written as my submission for the Strictly Dramione 18+ movie fest (fb group). It was my first fest, and I claimed the Mr and Mrs Smith prompt. I hope you all like what I made of it! All three chapters of this story are already written.**

 **Warnings: mentions of torture and murder, includes violence (also domestic) and sex**

 **Disclaimer: This piece is meant as a transformative work and no profit is made from this. Characters, places, etc. belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and whoever is responsible for 'Mr and Mrs Smith'. The exception is Morgana's Touch - that's mine.**

 **A huge shout out and tons of beta love to my awesome friend MrBenzedrine! Hugs to LondonsLegend for some priceless vocabulary.**

* * *

Hermione arrived at home in a hurry. Once she had exited the fireplace in the master bedroom of Malfoy Manor, she slipped off her sneakers, casually removing the bloodstains from her black, leather chucks.

Her assignment had resisted, and she hated that because it made her _late_. Consequently, she didn't have time to change her clothes in the department like she usually did when she came from one of her messier operations. And now, she was also late for the dinner party at the Potters. The only good thing was that she knew Draco wouldn't be at home, as he had told her that he had an important meeting with the board of Malfoy Inc. tonight. Maybe she could make up a believable excuse to him, preferably one she hadn't used too much in the past.

Yes, Hermione had a stressful job within her under section of the Department of Mysteries, the Book Restauration Of Extremely Disastrous Potential, or, short: B.O.R.E.D. At least, that was what the plaque on her door and her paycheck said. But as much as she was a scholar, she was even better at something else. Working only with a small team directly under the Minister's orders, Hermione was the witch they called when someone was so dangerous, detrimental, or sometimes only dubious that they had to disappear - discreetly - from the wizarding world. Often, 'disappearing' meant being hunted down, having their magic purged and their memories replaced by a unexplainable amnesia and a nice muggle background. Sometimes, it meant releasing the safety catch of her muggle sniper rifle and taking them down from the distance. Much better than poison. Very clean when you did it right. Occasionally, like today, her job got messy because she had to whip out her wand and engage the person in a duel. She hated it, because what her made so infamously successful was the inclusion of muggle technology - and the fact that her assignments expected an _Avada_ instead of muggle hightech.

Of course, her husband didn't know what she really did, and, at this point of their marriage, he probably wouldn't even care, Hermione surmised. Things between them had somehow cooled down; what had been a blazing fire for a short time was now an ice desert.

Shrugging off her distracting thoughts, the brunette quickly changed into sensible heels, a flowered skirt, and a red blouse. Now, she looked like everybody expected from a bookish know-it-all. The perfect cover for her double life, even if her outfit was constantly frowned upon in her husband's elitist circles.

She smirked every damn time she saw one of them through her scope.

* * *

Draco hated to be late. Not that he particularly cared about the 'event' he was invited to, but there was a difference between fashionably late and arriving in a rush.

His last case had resisted, and he hated that. Consequently, he was late for the dinner party at the Potters. The only good thing was that he knew Hermione wouldn't care when he was late, as he had told her that he had an important meeting with the board of Malfoy Inc. tonight. Knowing her, she had left her office late and Apparated to her best friend's house straight away. Walking through the front garden, he checked that his priceless Italian dragonhide shoes were free of blood stains thanks to the added Repelling Charms he had imbedded in them.

Yes, Draco had a stressful job as the co-owner of Malfoy Inc., the most successful potions company in Europe. While his father still managed the official branch, Draco was responsible for the more _succin_ t part of the family business. It was a very well kept secret that the Malfoys were more than blond hair and irresistible grey eyes; in fact, they were the best private assassin agency in the wizarding world and had been for centuries. Their arsenal of helpful curses and artifacts was extensive, and after a series of bad decisions (Death Eater wasn't a good cover), Draco helped greatly to bring the company back on track. He led a small team (the lesser people, the better) with Theo Nott and Blaise Zabini and held a spotless track record so far. In public, he was the perfect business man, and the marriage with Hermione had done wonders to open certain doors, even if she would never know that. However, all good things came to an end, and recently it became apparent to Draco that the relationship with the smart witch would probably be one of the next victims of his job. While they had started out so passionately, they rarely talked to each other now, and where the sex had called for dozens of _Reparo_ for the manor's interior in the past, it was more of a duty one fulfilled after Quidditch on Saturdays. If at all.

"Draco, what a surprise!"

' _A surprise, indeed,_ ' Draco thought and replied, "Hermione, I thought you'd long be here." He gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek.

"Well, some things couldn't wait until tomorrow," she said and knocked at the door without slowing just because she met her husband.

"I understand." And understand, he did, at least from the perspective of _his_ work. One couldn't very well postpone the disposal of a body or the Obliviation of some wizard just because the dinner was on the table or one of Hermione's friends had decided it would be wise to procreate.

As if on cue, the door opened.

* * *

Harry swung open the door, worry evident on his face. After a casual handshake with her husband, he hugged Hermione.

"Everything alright?" he whispered against her mass of curls, and Hermione hoped it had gone unnoticed by Draco, but sometimes that man had a hearing rivaling her own.

"Was anything special scheduled today that the Head Auror was informed?" Draco laced his voice with a carefully measured dose of concern.

Hermione shrugged and glared at Harry. "A particularly vicious book was on our plate today. It resisted a bit, but, in the end, I could wrangle it down without so much as cutting my finger on the paper." Harry appeared hardly convinced. But that may have had to do with the fact that he knew what she had really been up to. Her raven haired friend was one of the few people who was aware of what her her job entailed. And he worried constantly, mostly of what could happen to her and what he would say to her husband in such a case.

The brunette witch rolled her eyes. "Don't worry. I survived, didn't I? A glass of red wine would be nice, Harry."

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Hermione nursed her second fill of a decent Bordeaux and tried to ignore the meaningless chatter of the witches around her. Because, naturally, the group had divided, and by default Hermione had been sorted into the ladies group.

Pure boredom.

Some years ago, she and Draco tended to escape for a little tryst in an empty room or a dark corner behind the house, and that alone had made tolerating those gatherings worth it. Such glory days. Essentially, that was how they had established their relationship in the first place. At least, that what was Draco believed.

It was all Astoria's fault. Partially, at least. It had been Astoria's assignment to fulfill the Minister's wish of keeping a close eye on the Malfoys after their role in the Second Wizarding War, and the intelligent Slytherin had been the perfect candidate for this: pretty, pureblood, and loyal to the new Minister, she was tasked to gather an insight of the Malfoys' affairs from the inside of the family by seducing the handsome heir. Only it didn't work. No matter how low her neckline, no matter how witty and flirtatious her attitude - nothing could land her in Draco's arms.

Kingsley was adamant about the importance if the task, so he filtered through his special ops team, but in the end, he decided against Parvati, or Hannah, or Susan, and for Hermione. After all, Draco Malfoy was known to be attracted to vibrant witches - and who would be more fitting than Hermione Granger? After weeks of heated glances and smirks, one thing had led to the other at the annual Hogwarts War Memorial ball, and they had spent the night in the restricted section of the library doing very unrestricted things with their bodies. One of the best nights of her life. She continued her assignment with ease after that because she had truly been in love with the snarky man. And when she had confessed to Kingsley that she had become emotionally involved, he had merely cocked one eyebrow and congratulated, mumbling that the Malfoys clearly weren't involved in anything shady when they welcomed Hermione in their middle.

Still, the young Missus Malfoy had no idea when the marriage deteriorated or when things had become so boring between them. She suspected they got too invested in their respective jobs. Hermione knew that her priorities lay with her responsibilities for the wizardkind, and Draco...well, he thought that potions were important, as well as making a lot of money with them. Putting her work first was what had ended her relationship with Ron, and she started to think it would end that with Draco, too. She would have spent more time pondering her private life, but Ginny held a pink bundle in front of her eyes, one that giggled and flailed its stubby legs around.

"Here, hold Lily for a while," the temperamental witch commanded.

Hermione had no other option than to grab the baby before it kicked her into the face.

"Why?" she asked back, holding the toothless nappy destroyer at arms length. Merlin, but she had defused bombs with less hazardous potential - and less fear in her veins.

"So that your ovaries kick into gear and you and the ferret finally start making blond, curly haired bookworm babies."

Without any idea what to do with the baby girl, Hermione looked at the other women in the room with something akin despair - and realized she seemed to be the only adult in the room that wasn't either pregnant or had popped out some children. Yet, she had no desire whatsoever to follow them into motherhood. Then, Lily must have found out that she wasn't exactly welcome in her current company and promptly started wailing.

"I guess _Silencio_ isn't the accepted reaction here?" Hermione frowned. The other witches laughed at her comment, thinking she was joking and hiding her upcoming brooding instinct behind a mask of indifference. But they were wrong. Hermione inwardly shook her head at them: she was a fighter, not a milk bar!

* * *

Meanwhile, Draco had a polite conversation with Harry, Ron, and George about Quidditch. An easy, safe topic that didn't ask for a big portion of his brain. And what else should he talk to his wife's friends with if it wasn't accepted to use a pimped Dreamless Sleep potion or a modified _Stupefy_ to switch someone off for an hour or two?

They spoke about Oliver Wood's scores in the ongoing season when the two older Potter spawns stumbled in. Rude as he was due to his upbringing, James addressed his father, "Where did Lily come from?"

Draco snorted, actually looking forward to Harry's answer.

"From mummy's tummy. You know that, James, just like you and Al. That was why mummy's tummy was so big."

The child seemed to think hard about that and came to an earth-shattering conclusion. "Does that mean there's also a baby coming from Aunt Katie's tummy?"

Harry nodded, causing his glasses to slide down his nose. Did he make so few galleons that he couldn't even afford new glasses?

"And from Aunt Luna's tummy?"

Harry nodded again. Whether the child asked for more tummies or not, Draco didn't pay attention, for he was distracted by the smaller boy fingering his shoelaces with his undoubtedly snot covered fingers. Just when Draco wanted to shoo the nasty creature, his wife's name fell.

"Also from Aunt Hermione's tummy?"

"Salazar, I hope not!" Draco involuntarily exclaimed.

He earned reproachful glances from the three fathers in the room. Yeah, maybe Draco had avoided the responsibility of continuing the Malfoy line so far. And, looking into the living room where his wife held a baby like a dangerous object, he and Hermione were on the same wavelength on that topic.

He was a respectable assassin, not a nappy-changing Hufflepuff!

* * *

Three weeks later, Hermione entered the lobby of a posh hotel. Time was running for her to get her assignment fulfilled. This time, it was an extraction of information concerning a drug dealer ring. The highly dangerous substance, Morgana's Touch, was _en vogue_ in some circles, and the Minister worried it would spread, but they had a reliable informant telling them one of the key persons had a room here. She was to investigate the role of a certain individual, Jacque Lafleur, in the selling and production of said drug and Obliviate him afterwards.

Of course, the French wizard resided in the finest hotels, and that was why Hermione slipped into the role of the busy business bitch as a cover. That kind of woman she usually snarled at when she encountered them, a high heels, tight dress, and lipstick wearing, platinum blond woman. In short: the kind of woman she usually found prowling around her husband. With precise, elegant steps she strolled through the lobby and addressed the witch at the reception without greeting, "Liz Bennet; I booked a room some days ago."

The woman behind the counter was a professional and smiled politely, "Good afternoon, Miss Bennet. Welcome to our hotel. Yes, we have a reservation under your name."

Even if her instinct was to make some small talk, Hermione firmly stayed in her role, criticised that she had to levitate her luggage herself from the Apparition point and that she had already been to hotels in her life, so she didn't need an introduction of how to open and close her door with a password. The reception witch was endlessly patient and ended her speech with a little chuckle. "You know, Miss Bennet, your reservation has caused quite some amusement among the staff."

Hermione raised her perfectly groomed eyebrows. "And why, pray tell, may that be?" she snarled in her best imitation of her father-in-law. Though, it didn't do anything to stop the woman's cheerfulness.

"The same day your reservation came in, not even an hour later, we had a reservation from a gentleman named William Darcy. Isn't that a strange coincidence?"

Without so much as a nod as reaction, Hermione spun on her heel and walked over to the elevators, deep in thoughts. A strange coincidence indeed. She often chose fictional characters as cover names when she checked in somewhere on her missions, and this time it had been her favourite novel _Pride and Prejudice_ she had picked. But to find someone in her hotel also bearing a name closely related to the same book made the hairs on her neck stand up in alarm.

There had been rumours that someone else was also on Lafleur's heels, and that they were even closer to him then she and her team. It had happened once in a while in the past that their competitors (and, without a doubt, they had some) had won the race, or that they had caused an explosion or another ruckus to hold her team back. But who they were, the Ministry didn't know, for they covered their traces expertly.

"Focus, Hermione!" the witch mumbled to herself. A distraction was the worst thing that could happen, short of being uncovered, of course.

One hour later, after she had unpacked her things and had had a refreshing nap, she stepped out of her room to pay a visit to the bar, where she assumed Lafleur met with his clients, sipping expensive firewhiskey and making flat jokes. She threw a short glance down to her cleavage to check whether the neckline of her black dress plunged deep enough to catch a man's attention (because Hermione wasn't too ignorant not to realize that this tactic worked in some cases), and smiled, pleased when someone grabbed her upper arms.

"Careful, lady!"

She was about to apologise for almost running into someone, lifted her head -

-And had all of her instincts screaming red alert in the next second. The face she was staring into was so dreadfully familiar, yet so different from what she saw every day. The tall wizard in front of her had short, brown hair and deep brown eyes, and a smirk that had once dampened her underwear instantly.

"Draco? What-" Her insides turned cold.

"Hermione?" The smirk disappeared. "I thought you were on a book restoration conference in Paris!"

"Well, _honey_ , and I thought _you_ were on a Potions Club meeting in Aberdeen!" Her husband still had the hands on her arms, though the grip was much tighter now. Did he want to restrict her? And why was he Glamoured?

"Oh, look, whom we have here! What a pleasant surprise!" Another familiar voice came from her right. She glanced into the direction from where now slow, deliberate claps could be heard, followed by Draco's groan.

"Pansy. What the fuck are you doing here?"

"That should be obvious, dear Draco, shouldn't it?" A dramatic pause followed. Adrenaline started to run through Hermione's veins. Something wasn't right here. _Even_ entirely wrong. "I'm observing the most successful couple in the wizarding world in action. Nobody else has a higher track record than you two."

Hermione's brain needed a second to process the new information. No, that couldn't be true...could it? Then, things happened in quick succession: she freed herself from Draco's grip and produced her wand in a precise movement. Though, at whom she should point it? Pansy still leaned against the wall; her lips curled into a devilish smile and her arms folded under her breasts. Draco, on the other side, had his hawthorn wand unmistakably directed at Hermione's head. Consequently, she aimed hers at her dear husband, who seemed to have withheld a tidbit or two about his life from her.

" _Darling_ , we should have a nice, long chat at home," he sneered, and she wasn't even shocked at the cold his voice held, for she replied in the same tone, "That we should, _love_."

Casting all plans to fulfill her assignment aside because there were obviously more important issues at hand, Hermione spun on her heel and Apparated to the manor.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: A heartfelt thank you that you all have been so generous with your reviews and following of this story. It's such a great feeling to see these messages appear on my mobile!**

 **I haven't mentioned it in my stories so far, but I also have a tiny facebook page and tumblr url under my penname. So if you're interested, check them out.**

 **Eternal beta-love to MrBenzedrine! (can't place enough exclamation marks here!)**

 **Same trigger warnings and disclaimer as in the previous chapter!**

* * *

Hermione and Draco didn't waste any time when their feet touched ground in the entrance hall of the manor, automatically stripping them of their respective Glamours. Adapting a duelling stance, both simultaneously yelled, " _Stupefy_!" Considering they were both professional assassins, it was a warm spells collided and bounced against the wall, the force of it causing the chandelier to shake violently. Both ducked away, Draco also closing down the Floo with a flourish of his wand. He couldn't risk her escaping him without having a decent 'chat'.

"Afraid I'll leave you dead on the floor and flee from the authorities, Draco?" Her voice was a bit shaky, but otherwise cool - mellow.

As an answer, he fired a powerful _Confingo_ at the shelf he suspected her hiding behind.

"Damnit!" she cursed when forced to leave her hiding place. Hermione rolled away and immediately jumped to her feet. " _Accio rug_!" Draco's head banged on the floor with a satisfying sound after she pulled the expensive Persian rug from beneath him.

The wizard had no other choice but wait until the stars in front of his eyes disappeared again after the hard impact. When he could see clearly again, his wife towered over him, her wand pointed at his heart. Her hair had left its half-order, bouncing wildly around her face, her brown eyes gleaming dangerously. Draco hadn't seen her so alive in years.

"You're not really into the potion business." It wasn't a question.

"Oh, I am into business alright, just not the one you believe I am. My father deals with the potions; I handle the more _delicate_ clients." He tried to keep his voice as relaxed as if they were having a conversation over the breakfast table.

" _Delicate_ ," she snorted. "What a perfect euphemism."

"Just like I thought you dealt with 'delicate' books, darling."

"I needed a convincing cover," she justified her lies.

"You shattered all of my naughty librarian fantasies."

Their eyes connected, and Draco knew he had her. His eyes were a fail-proof seduction for her. A moment of distraction was all he needed. With a swing of his legs, he gained momentum, hooked one foot at Hermione's ankle and pulled. She landed hard on her back but didn't make a noise of pain, not even when Draco threw himself over her, pinning her wrists next to her head.

"Pity," he concluded his previous statement, sensing triumph.

Any rational thought escaped him when Hermione rammed her knee between his legs into the Malfoy crown jewels. Over his own groaning and the popping noise in his ears, he could hear her chuckle. Lithe like a panther - or rather a lioness - the witch left and made a dash for the stairs. She blew up one or two antique vases on her way, just because she could. It wasn't as if Draco wouldn't find her anyway. Twenty seconds later, and Hermione considered this a very quick recovery time, she heard him shouting behind her, "Could you show a modicum respect for the priceless family heirlooms?"

"At least I know now where your family gained its wealth from!" she yelled back, now arriving the first floor of the west wing.

A hand grabbed her right wrist, a tactical decision because it was her wand arm, and twisted it behind her back, followed by the other arm. Merlin, she didn't expect him to be this fast! She struggled against his grip, but it was useless. He was physically stronger than she was.

Draco bent his head and spoke dangerously low, albeit with a sarcastic undertone into her ear, "Did you think all the money came from Pepper Up Solutions? Or Love Potions?" Hermione tried hard to let his husky drawl not affect her, but she couldn't stop a too pleasant shiver travelling through her, starting where his huffed breath tickled her skin. No, she shouldn't let that happen!

"Sometimes, I think there isn't another rational explanation why else I fell for you…" In a childish move, she threw her head back and promptly collided with his nose. She spun around to see him holding his hand to his face, blood trickling from under it.

"Fuck, Granger," he had the habit of calling her by her maiden name when angry, "why do you always go for my nose?"

She paused her retreat for a moment to give him the most obvious answer: "Because it was your first weak point I discovered."

He sent a Flagrante curse after her that singed the tips of her hair.

The fight went on for seemingly forever and destroyed more than one of the many rooms of the Malfoys' family home. Draco, as well as Hermione, excelled in a large spectrum of magic, be it a well-placed _Mollis_ that turned every surface into a soft mass impossible to walk on, or a nice _Glisseo_ that caused Hermione to slide down the stairs when she tried to climb them up.

Hex followed curse, spell followed jinx, and it became apparent that they were each other's' equal. Both panted and cussed, threw insults at their spouse that would have made Snape blush, but finally, Draco found something he was certain would give him the upper hand.

Behind one of his lovely ancestor's painting - Armand Malfoy, whom Hermione especially detested - the sweating wizard found a muggle device he had briefly scanned a dossier about that Blaise had shoved into his hands. He had abandoned the idea because, like most muggle things, he had found it impractical. Hermione was very close on his heels when he discovered it, and, without thinking twice, he removed the splint and threw it at her, knowing she'd catch it reflexively with both hands. There was a reason she was such a failure in Quidditch: she could only catch things two-handed. The witch gasped when she identified the object in her hands and held tight to it, her wand clattering to the floor.

"Draco, that's a fucking grenade!"

"Language, wifey." He smirked, feeling in control, and casually spun the remote control between his fingers. She was wandless with an activated grenade in her hands, after all.

"Promise me to leave Britain, or I _will_ blow it!" he demanded; he didn't want to kill her, not really. He just needed her out of his life.

"Okay, I give up. Please, blow it!"

He couldn't believe his ears. "Excuse me. What?"

"Go on. Blow it," she brought forth between gritted teeth.

"You think I won't?"

"I think you won't."

"OK. Five. Four," he counted, the finger almost on the button. "Any last words?"

"Blaise has a nice arse. And I love Theo's eyes."

His reckless Gryffindor always loved challenging fate. "Goodbye, Hermione." Closing his eyes, he pressed the button on the remote control and prepared himself for an explosion by casting a _Protego_.

Nothing happened.

When he reopened his eyes again, she had already regained her wand and held it into his face. "What the Hell is this?" he wanted to know, raising his own. They were back to where they started, apparently.

"Arse was the password for the deactivation. Additional voice control. Very handy. And exactly the reason why muggle devices are so very useful in our job. Harry is of the same opinion, I might add."

Draco felt his blood pressure rising. "Potter knows? Next thing you tell me you're in a passionate love triangle with him and his wife."

"Ewwww!" Hermione looked at him, flinching in earnest, and couldn't deny he was quite a sight: his shirt was ripped in some places, showing the hard muscles underneath. His blond hair was in an attractive disarray, the cheeks flushed, his pupils dilated - and then she realized: that wasn't ire, but arousal! "You'd like that! You perv!"

"I'm not a liar, Hermione!" The witch in question snorted, quite unladylike. "Not in this aspect," he narrowed it down. "I always felt attracted to you; that was why I didn't give in to all those witches' advances. Not even Astoria's, though I was severely tempted."

Hermione realized they were finally getting to the bottom of things."And that is supposed to make me feel better, or what? Sure, I'll oversee that you lied to me and instead thank you because you didn't sleep around?"

"It's not as if you didn't have secret life in turn, Hermione. How many have you killed?" he asked, genuinely curious. If this woman fulfilled her duties with the same perfection she had shown in learning, her number must be skyrocketing.

She outright ignored his question. "I have my reasons!" Both were now yelling, the wands lowered. "I'm working for a good cause so that Harry's children can sleep peacefully at night."

Draco furrowed a brow, seeing right through her. "Oh, don't pull that card on me. Drop that holier-than-thou attitude we both know you never possessed. That's why you couldn't resist me; you're getting off on the darkness in me!"

He might have a point there, not that she'd admit it. Despite what the public assumed about her, she was a Gryffindor with more than just a few darker streaks, but people tended to oversee that her superior intelligence sometimes meant being downright vicious as long as it got her where she wanted. And yes, this underlying power was one of the traits she found attractive in Draco - until she found out he was as dangerous as a pygmy puff. But now that image had gone topsy turvy, and the realisation made her even more angry.

In a usual argument between them, Draco would turn around and sulk in his study or get drunk with his friends, but he couldn't risk that now, especially considering the barely contained magic cackling in his wife's aura. Merlin, but she was magnificent. She raised her wand in a gesture that was normally followed by a mean hex, but this time, Draco was faster.

" _Irrigo_!" He had modified this spell, originally designed to water plants, for situations like these: Hermione was doused in cold water. The woman gasped and spluttered, shocked but probably still seething. But the fire in her eyes, combined with the wet clothes that hugged her body, made Draco's cock twitch. With a start, her realized he wasn't better than she was; both of them were constantly teetering on the edge of the abyss. Maybe, they had long ago fallen into it, but the thrill he felt laying his eyes upon the gorgeous, perilous witch in front of him made something inside of him snap.

Before she could speak another magic evoking word, he stepped forward, slung one arm around her waist and cupped her neck with the other. And then, he pressed his lips on hers. It wasn't at all like the gentle kiss they shared on their wedding day. This was a battle formed into a clash of lips. Draco experienced that when, instead of opening her mouth to let his tongue in, Hermione bit on his bottom lip harshly, causing him to cry out, and then used his resulting surprise to force her tongue in his mouth.

He groaned, and she hissed when he pulled her closer to him, giving her no other choice to tilt her head and arch her back so her breasts were pressed against him. She rewarded him by unlooping his belt. Half a minute later - they were both down to their underwear - Hermione's wedding ring got tangled in Draco's hair. The resulting tingling on his scalp pulled him out of his lust induced haze for the moment. He cupped his wife's face with both hands and removed her lips from his, ignoring the noises of protests she made at that.

"What are we doing here, Hermione?" he asked, staring into her almost black eyes.

"I don't know," was her instant reply. Draco could feel her trembling under his touch, be it from the onslaught of emotions or the cold, he didn't know. "But it feels too damn good to stop." She was right, of course. She always was. However, the passionate fire in his veins was followed by a wave of cold dread when he felt the tip of her wand sliding along the hollow of his spine. The woman, despite being only clad in a sinuous combination of black lace and silk, had held tight to her wand. He was ready to greet his ancestors when she tilted her head a fraction and pulled her lips between her teeth. She meant him no harm, apparently. Not at the moment. Or, at least, not much. The wand had reached the waistband of his boxers when a whisper escaped her lips. Magic washed over him - and took his underwear with it. She had vanished his boxers! The sudden contact of his insistent erection with the warmth of her skin caused him to hiss,"Witch!"

"And you wouldn't want it any other way." Hermione deadpanned, smugly. Time to teach her a lesson. A flick of his own wand brought them both to their bedroom - and left her bra and knickers behind. As soon as they had rematerialized, Hermione felt herself thrown on the bed. Though the incomprehensible rush she felt, the caress of the fine bedsheets on her entire backside signalled her that Draco had divested her of her remaining clothes. Not that she minded, but the amount of skill that demanded while Apparating made her even wetter and her insides clench in anticipation. Instinctively, she spread her legs and placed her feet flat on the bed. No movement was without calculation, as she was aware of how wanton she must appear. But how couldn't she want that when her husband whom she peeked at through her opened legs had the mien of the seven sins all committed at once?

Grey eyes blazing, he approached her like like a predator its prey, or, in this case, like a hunter approaching the predator. She expected him to pounce on her, take her on the spot, but that would betray Draco's finesse. Instead, he placed one of her feet in his hand and softly trailed kisses on the outer side, just above her ankle. Ever the professional, he kept the unoccupied hand on the other foot - for security reasons. One well-aimed kick against his temple could be detrimental for one's health. He moved the kisses up, along her shin, over her knee, the insides of her thigh, and Hermione was dissolving into mush, inwardly praying that her pussy would be the finish line. She could already feel his hot breath on her outer lips when he stopped abruptly and started the same game with the outer foot, not without smirking devilishly at her in between. By the time he had ventured to her dripping centre again, Hermione was panting. Though, he simply bestowed one, soft kiss with a flicker of his tongue against her clit.

The witch had learned to be patient in her job, but this was enough. A second later, Draco found himself sprawled on his back, Hermione straddling him with no idea how it had happened. Not that he didn't enjoy the show: she slowly moved her hips and spread the maddening wetness that had gathered between her legs on his cock. He wanted to throw his head back at the unbelievable feeling but refrained from it - still not absolutely certain she wouldn't use his vulnerability.

"Hermione…" his words were threat and plead in equal parts. He hadn't been this turned on since probably the night in the restricted section. Either she had mercy on him or was as aroused as he was, for she finally positioned herself over his dick and sunk down on him in one fluid moment. Both of them moaned at the initial penetration. To keep a modicum of control, Draco gripped her hips with a fervor that would certainly leave bruises - but what was one more? - and eased her into movement.

Primed as she was, Hermione realized she wouldn't last long and, judging by the intelligible expletives her husband emitted, he was in a very similar condition. Like in their earlier days, she loved to see Draco in the throes of orgasm, because he was such a perfection of virility and unbridled passion then, but now she had another motivation not to break their intense eye contact - control. For a while, she rode him with abandon, the squishing sounds of her juices coating his member growing in intensity with every rocking of her pelvis against his. A particularly hard shove rippled through his body, and then he rose up into a sitting position. The resulting shift of the angle slipped him even deeper into her, and she cried out in bliss. Perfect.

Draco believed he had landed himself in heaven, even though he knew there was probably a VIP ticket to Hell waiting for him upon his demise. Engulfed in his wife's hot and wet cunt, he felt the familiar sensation coil in his lower abdomen waiting to erupt. On the other side, he didn't want to maneuver himself in a weaker position by coming before she did, so he did what he could to bring her to orgasm as fast as possible. He placed one hand on her firm behind, the other on her shoulder blades and thrusted into her in tune to her rhythm, nipping on one of her nipples simultaneously. After a few strong thrusts, he felt her inner walls start to flutter around him, and knew that it meant she was about to come. Without warning, she captured his lips with hers in a frenzied kiss. When the fluttering became hectic clenching, he swallowed her shouts of ecstasy with his mouth and let him pull with her into the white noise. With the next push into her, he felt his seed spilling into her and couldn't remember when he had ever come this hard. Seemingly endless his release lasted, and with the last drop, Hermione's convulsions around him finally ceased.

She rested her forehead against his, their sweat mingling. For what felt like an eternity, nothing was heard in the bedroom except the couple regaining control over their breathing. Suddenly, the absurdity of it all crashed on Hermione, and she started to giggle. What started as breathless chuckle quickly turned into fully blown laughter. The brunette laughed so hard that Draco lowered her on the mattress. Observing his wife, the woman he loved so unhinged, he couldn't help but join. Together they lay on their backs in their marriage bed, totally starkers, and laughed until they had tears in their eyes.

"I was almost deaf on Christmas!" she wheezed when she had calmed down a fraction.

"That's why you were so quiet at the dinner with my parents. Salazar, I loved that, because it irritated my father to no end when you completely ignored his 'where's my heir' speech!" Draco turned on his side to face Hermione, who mirrored his position.

"I was out cold on our third wedding anniversary. Manticore attack and some nice _Crucio_ on top," the blond admitted.

"I was so angry at you, I wanted to kill you. Literally."

Her husband's snort blew some of her errant curls out of her face, making her smile. Then, they started to talk. Really talk. About missions, about victims, about the dozen times they nearly ran into each other. And for the two of them it was the first time there was no holding back, no veiled secrets, no hidden agenda, which was probably a premiere since they left school. The sun set, the bedroom was bathed in moonlight, the sun rose again, and Hermione and Draco were still in the bedroom, their chatting only interrupted by numerous rounds of shagging, hastily prepared snacks, and some naps.

They hadn't felt this free in years.

* * *

But all good things had to come to an end, and theirs came in the late hours of the following morning. At some point, the (paid) elves had collected, cleaned, and repaired their clothes and placed them in their bedroom, so it came as a surprise to Draco when Hermione's pile suddenly buzzed.

"What is that sound?"

"My mobile," Hermione frowned, knowing only a handful of people would know her number. She climbed out of the bed, clad in nothing more than a thin nightgown, and gathered the object in her hands.

" _Shit!_ Shit, shit, double shit!" she cursed. "Harry wrote me. Someone sold us out and I'm under the suspicion of being corrupted."

Draco didn't get the severity of this information and wriggled his eyebrows at her. "And, have you been corrupted?"

"Draco, this isn't between us anymore. Someone tipped the Minister off about what happened between us, and they're sending the Aurors after us." Reality sunk in, and the Malfoy heir jumped into fighting mode. With a flourish of his wand, he conjured his clothes and put them on in a hurry.

"Don't worry, the wards are strong and won't let anyone in without my permission."

"Uhmmm…" Hermione blushed. "They might get in easier than you think due to some blood samples of yours."

"You gave them my blood?" Draco couldn't believe his ears.

The witch had a perfect explanation for that, though: "Well, the Minister thought you and your family had some shady business!"

"I can gladly confirm that he was right in the first place, and that means you were wrong!" He overplayed the unsettling feeling upon knowing the Auror squad could come in now every second.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You know how much I detest that!"

Despite everything, he smirked. "Yes, of course. It was simply too irresistible to push the button."

Finishing her outfit by fastening her hair into a tight bun, she threw her husband a kiss and a wink. "Baby, you couldn't find the button with a _Point Me!_ and the Marauder's Map!"

Draco scowled. "Okay, what's our plan?"

"The library! It has to be protected!" The brunette hadn't lost an ounce of her bibliophilia just she worked in a different profession.

"They won't get in there, darling - special wards of my very own creation."

"Did you sacrifice someone for it?" Hermione asked, only half-joking.

"Only a couple of house elves, a random hippogriff, and a bald Hufflepuff." He found himself face to face with her wand again. "Just being sarcastic, honey."

"I knew that you were sarcastic when you had said you sacrificed your mother!"

Their loving banter was interrupted by an owl pecking against the window. Draco opened it, assuming it was a missile by Theo or Blaise, informing him about the upcoming official 'visit', but it wasn't. The bird took off when he opened the short letter, and when he had scanned the parchment, he wondered aloud, "What the…? It's from Astoria." He held it out for Hermione to read who gasped at the words.

' _D + H,_

 _need help!_

 _A.G.'_

"This screams trap and betrayal, doesn't it?" Draco asked, and Hermione could only nod.

Before they could discuss their plans, however, loud footsteps were heard from downstairs, along with the occasional shout of spells.

"No wonder the Minister needs you - those morons are anything but subtle," Hermione's husband commented drily.

"No protesting here. Do you think the emergency Floo in your father's old study will still be working? I don't think it's on any plans the Ministry has."

"You know about that?"

Hermione shrugged. "I found it after your parents moved out. What can I say? I was bored."

"Just for the protocol," the wizard interjected, "we could stay and fight."

"We could. But we need to get to the bottom of this, and for that, we should start at Astoria's home." Great minds think alike, they say. In this case, it meant Hermione and Draco Malfoy clasping their hands and Floo'ing to the Greengrass' family home three minutes later. Despite the Aurors already stumbling through the manor, this was possible for two reasons: for one, Hermione, when passing the blood samples and the instructions for the wards, had _accidentally_ given them a plan of the house with an inbuilt Confundus charm so they couldn't find the important rooms; second, Draco had set up some magical traps he activated with a whispered password now ("Know-it-all").

To sum it up, it was a wholly pleasant and delighting start into the day in the life of Mister and Missus Malfoy.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: And here it is! The final chapter of my Dramione version of Mr and Mrs Smith. Thank you for reading and reviewing this, it really means a lot to me!**  
 **As always beta love to MrBenzedrine!**

* * *

Draco had directed them to one of the guest rooms of the Greengrass estate. Even in a humble abode of the Sacred Twenty-Eighths', it would be impossibly unstealthy to suddenly appear in the travelling room. Another advantage was that he and Hermione could discuss their options without Aurors breathing down their necks.

"Alright, we're on the first floor: guest quarters. If I were Astoria's captor, I'd hide her either in the reading room downstairs or one of the dining rooms, because they're all central and easy to control."

Hermione pursed her lips in a way that signalled imminent danger. "You know your way around here, don't you?"

"Don't play the jealous woman, Hermione, it doesn't become you," Draco replied, oddly amused at his wife's reaction.

"I don't play."

"Astoria is a nice girl. Pretty, relatively smart…"

"And one of my team."

"Really?" Now that was something he didn't expect. But why should he? Astoria hitting on him had been perfectly normal - they had a similar upbringing, and he knew his influence on the ladies. Though, the most important lady twirled her wand between her fingers in an impatient manner, clearly disapproving of his wayward thoughts. Thus he stated, "We agree that Pansy is behind this somehow?" They hadn't discussed the encounter with the woman in detail so far, but Draco felt the need to bring it up now.

"Of course. But what are her motives?" Hermione stopped the twirling.

"She's a competitive bitch; that suffices."

"Competitive?" A second later, the witch's eyes widened in realisation. "Merlin and Morgana, are all of the Slytherins from our year into assassination?"

"No. I've heard the Longbottom Connection is quite good, too!" And he wasn't even lying. He had a run in with a venomous daisy from their arsenal some years ago.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation."Seriously, it must have to do with all the dark magic we were exposed to in our youth."

"As stimulating as this discussion is, we should concentrate on the task at hand."

Wand at the ready, the couple left the guest room and stealthily crept through the house. It wasn't small by any means, but Hermione noticed with a grim satisfaction that it was considerably smaller than Malfoy Manor. She followed Draco towards the reading room, and he had been right indeed. Astoria sat in the middle of the room, roped to a chair with her back to the only entrance.

Hermione spoke in a hushed voice, "Okay, so here's the plan: we wait here, disguised, until whoever did this - probably Pansy - shows up to check on her. This way, we don't have to care about-"

But Draco apparently didn't listen, for he marched straightly through the doorway, waving his wand to lift the obvious wards on the room.

"What. An. Idiot," she snarled when he bend down to loosen the ropes on Astoria, who gaped at him with surprise. Hermione stormed in after him, fuming, when an alarm went off. Over the elated smile from the other witch and the howling sound of the alert, she berated the blond, "You didn't want to listen to me, so here we are. There was probably was an alarm connected with the ropes!"

"What does it matter? We should have plenty of time before Pansy arrives." He shrugged, giving Astoria a helping hand from the chair.

"But you deviated from my plan," Hermione accused Draco.

"Your plan was flawed."

"The plan was _not_ flawed."

"Anal."

"Organized."

"Hermione, ninety percent of this job is instinct."

"Well, your 'instinct' set off every alarm of the building."

"My instinct got the job done. It may not have been the Granger Show…"

"No! It was the Malfoy Show. It was half-assed and egotistical. As it is always for you." They stood very close now, only some inches between them. Not enough for the hippogriff in the room, apparently.

"For me? _I'm_ the egoist? It was _you_ who hit on _me_ for your damn job in the first place!" Draco voiced what pained him since he had listened to Hermione's story, his grey eyes stormy.

Then, Astoria stepped in, wringing her hands. "I knew it! I knew this marriage was a fluke! Pansy was right! I couldn't imagine Hermione Granger really falling for Draco Malfoy! It was just another step on the ladder to the Minister's position, right?"

Hermione tilted her head, finally seeing through things. She approached the other witch. "What did Pansy promise you for the insider information and your little charade, Astoria?"

She had placed one arm at the younger witch's shoulder in what could be a calming gesture - only that Draco knew it wasn't. His wife's voice was calm, but held an unmistakable threat.

Astoria, too, realized in what an unfortunate situation she had maneuvered herself, and big, fat tears of regret fell on her cheeks. "To get you out of the way and modify Draco's memory so he wouldn't remember you anymore. I could have him for myself."

"Of course, simply killing the Malfoy heir would be a bit noticeable," Hermione murmured, more to herself, then placed a palm on Astoria's cheek. "It's alright. You couldn't help to lose in a game that's too big for you, silly girl." Astoria closed her eyes at Hermione's almost gentle , and Draco would have missed it hadn't he practically waited for such a thing to happen, a spark erupted from his wife's pointer finger and sunk into Astoria's temple. The woman immediately sacked to the floor, unconscious. And the fabulous woman he called his wife stood there like a dark goddess waiting to unleash her wrath upon the mortals.

"Wow, that was-"

"Wrong? Calculated? Cruel?" she suggested coldly.

"I wanted to say 'hot', but who am I to contradict you?" he smirked and was rewarded with a true and heart-warming smile (which was a tad ironic considering the circumstances).

"Draco...I thought about what Astoria said, you know? That she was right. At the beginning, you were nothing but an assignment for me...then, I fell head over heels for you, but…"

Draco interrupted her confessions, "I understand. Really, I do. But shouldn't we-"

" _Expelliarmus!_ " Pansy must have waited for the ideal moment to strike. And strike she did: she lifted her disguise and appeared directly behind Hermione, holding her wand against the slightly smaller witch's throat after disarming her and Draco.

"Splendid, now I have two cockroaches with one shoe! Don't you mudbloods say it like that?"

"It's two birds with one stone, but I don't expect a dim-witted excuse of a witch like you to know that," Hermione hissed, defiant despite the position she was in.

Draco, on the other side, hadn't moved one inch. His stance seemed relaxed, and he kept his hands where Pansy could see them, but his insides were reeling. "How very Slytherin of you, Pansy. Trapping someone into doing the dirty work for you while you swoop in and claim the big prize."

"It was too easy to get you two fools where I wanted you. Having Astoria leak some small cues, like the footage from the hotel where you were to meet Lafleur, to the Minister was not a big thing. A child's play, really. You're too good at what you do, Draco. Hogging all the clients is not a polite thing to do. And the bookworm you call a wife? Too smart for her own good."

"What are your plans now? Getting rid of the both of us to secure your position in our business and weaken the Ministry?" Draco's eyes searched for Hermione's, trying to signal her to be prepared. All he needed was a tiny distraction…

Pansy, believing herself in a superior position, was willing to explain, "Irregardless of what you may believe-"

"Regardless," Hermione corrected.

"What?" Pansy tightened her grip on Draco's wife. The wizard saw his chance when Pansy gazed at Hermione, irritated, and quickly seized his spare wand from the back pocket of his trousers. With a quick swish and flick, he levitated a heavy looking book from the table behind the raven-haired witch -

"The word is 'regardless', not 'irregardless'. It's a common mistake, you know. But maybe that's too _heavy_ for you," Hermione finished with a smirk and enjoyed the flabbergasted expression on the other witch's face for a millisecond - when Draco dropped the book on Pansy's head. The impact was strong enough to make her release Hermione, but not to stun her; though, the _Stupefy_ the young Malfoy sent in her direction certainly was.

With a slight shrug, Hermione assessed the new situation and picked the book up. "Gilderoy Lockhart's _Magical Me_? I thought you had style." And then she sent her patronus with a message to Harry.

"You called the Ministry?" Draco questioned, a tiny part of him believing she'd hand him over. But his doubts very vanished when she gave him a smirk reminding him all too much of his own. "You didn't think I'd take the waste out myself?" He wrapped his arms around her, impulsively, and pulled her in for an intense kiss that ended only when Harry Potter cleared his throat behind them.

* * *

Of course they had to explain themselves to the Minister of Magic - or at least, Hermione had to.

"Before you ask any unnecessary questions, Kingsley, may I present you the newest addition to our team?" If his beautiful wife hadn't winked at him, Draco's expression would have been as astonished as Shacklebolt's. Then, Hermione proceeded to clarify, "You didn't _really_ believe I had been compromised, did you?" She produced a frown like his mother did when confronted with abysmally dumb things. "There clearly has been a misunderstanding of epic proportions, I'm afraid. I explained to Astoria in great detail how I would recruit my husband for our project. He will be a valuable addition to our team, especially since Miss Greengrass has become so...unreliable."

One could see the Minister pondering his options for exactly ten seconds, but when Hermione had her eyes on a goal nobody in their right mind would deny her. Finally, Shacklebolt lifted his impressive form from his seat and extended his hands to Draco, not without a controlling glance to the witch.

"Welcome to the team, Mister Malfoy."

* * *

Again, Hermione was late for an evening at the Potters, but for entirely different reasons than some weeks ago. This time, she walked through the front garden hand in hand with her husband, and their reasons to be late were much more pleasant and involved considerably less blood.

It had taken some time to convince Draco that his team working _for_ the Ministry was much easier than working _against_ it, especially considering the half-official ways they had now access to. Labelled as 'consultant' for Hermione's team, he even kept his old office. Lucius, on the other hand, had been harder to persuade, but he was rendered silent when Hermione threatened to send some intimate photographs from private meetings in his early years of marriage to Narcissa. He wouldn't want that, would he? Family had to stick together, after all.

The no-secrets policy revitalised the relationship between Hermione and Draco. Naturally, they still fought, but they also talked, and shagged, and talked again, and fucked again. All in all, as paradox as it seems, the discovery of each others' double lives had saved their marriage.

Harry opened the door, a wailing baby on his arm and a crying toddler on his hand, and smiled at them.

"You're late."

"We had some important…things to finish before we could come here," Draco paraphrased casually. Taking in the slight disarray of Hermione's dress and Draco's hair, Harry deduced correctly what things they had been up to. In fact, Hermione remembered suddenly: they had been so caught up in the passion of the moment that they forgot to cast a contraceptive charm. Strangely, when Draco handed the still crying Albus one of his monogrammed handkerchiefs with only a modicum of open disgust, she found that, for the first time, she didn't panic.

They were Mister and Missus Malfoy, after all.


End file.
